


Walking the Wire

by emraldmoon



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Comfort/Angst, Depressed Peter Parker, Depression, Gen, Iron Man - Freeform, IronDad and SpiderSon, Irondad, Mental Illness, Peter Parker - Freeform, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Suicidal Peter Parker, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Angst, spiderman - Freeform, spiderson, tony stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-10-30 11:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17827739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emraldmoon/pseuds/emraldmoon
Summary: Tony finds Peter sitting at the top of a bridge, contemplating suicide.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Suicidal thoughts; attempted suicide; in-depth depression (talks, symptoms); anxiety; mental illness

Tony was busy working on upgrades for his suit when he got the alert from F.R.I.D.A.Y.

_“Boss, I’ve collected civilian footage. Peter Parker has been spotted on top of the Queensboro bridge.”_

Tony froze as he heard her speak. It was two in the morning of a Tuesday night - what was Peter doing out?

 _Maybe he’s chasing a bad guy or something_ , he tried to convince himself.

“Is he wearing his suit?”

_“No, Sir.”_

The screwdriver in his hand clattered to the desk as his heartbeat sped up.

“Show me the footage.”

A video appeared in front of Tony. It was grainy, taken on a mobile phone, and was shaking. It was pointed upwards at - sure enough, the Queensboro bridge - and Tony had to look closely to notice the irregular figure at the top. The figure of a man, one would’ve thought, but Tony knew better.

It was the figure of a boy.

 _“Hey, look, there’s someone up there!”_ someone shouted from behind the video, clearly the person holding the camera. Tony kept his wide eyes focused on the shadow sitting 350 feet up, his breath quickening, the shaking quality of the video not helping his anxiety. He noticed his hand beginning to shake.

_No. You can’t have an anxiety attack. Not now. Peter needs you._

He clutched his hand to his chest, attempting to hold it still.

It didn’t work.

 _“Dude, I think he’s gonna jump!”_ a second voice pitched in, and Tony’s breath caught in his throat.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., how long ago was this video taken?” he asked, his voice trembling as he called his suit to him. The people taking the video said something about not wanting to hang around any longer, and hurried away, turning the camera off in the process.

_“Just a minute ago, Sir.”_

Tony allowed his suit to form around him as F.R.I.D.A.Y. transferred over. He took off from the ground as soon as the last piece was in place and flew full speed towards the bridge.

“How long will it take me to get to him, Fri?”

_“Seven minutes, Sir.”_

Tony swore under his breath. Too long. _Too long_.

“Call him.”

_“Calling Peter Parker.”_

Tony urged his suit to fly faster towards the bridge, the image of the shadowy figure at the top from the video haunting him. The phone continued to ring, and Tony feared he might’ve been too late.

 _Don’t get ahead of yourself_ , his inner voice tried to tell him. _Peter likes heights. He might just be winding down after patrol._

 _But he’s not in his suit_ , Tony argued back as the phone continued to ring.

“Come on, Pete, pick up, _pick up_ -”

He had no idea what his kid was doing on top of a _350 foot high_ bridge without his suit. Peter had done nothing to lead Tony to believe he would do anything rash, but Tony knew how these things went. Hell, Tony went through it himself. He knew no one on the outside could possibly know what was going on in your head.

And that’s what terrified him.

_Six minutes._

Tony had a sharp intake of breath when he heard the ringing stop.

Peter had picked up.

But he wasn’t saying anything.

_Why wasn’t he saying anything?_

“Pete, you there?” Tony fought to keep his voice calm.

“Hi, Mr. Stark.” the steady tone in his voice terrified Tony. Even in those four syllables, Tony could hear - _this wasn’t his kid_. He wasn’t used to hearing this seriousness, this eerie quiet, in his voice, without a hint of laughter behind his words.

Tony pushed his suit faster.

“Hey, kid, what, uh- what are you doing?”

The other end was quiet. Tony’s heart sped up.

“Kid, you there?” His voice shook. He couldn’t lose his kid, he couldn’t live without him, he couldn’t _go on_ -

_Five minutes._

Thoughts crowded his mind as the silence on the other end overtook him. Where was his kid? Why wasn’t he answering? What-

“Yeah, Mr. Stark,” the quiet voice on the other end rang out. Tony heaved a sigh of relief.

“Hey.” He urged his voice to stay calm, but the tremble betrayed him. “So, what’s - what’s going on, Pete? What’re you doing right now?”

Tony hated the pause that followed. But he knew Peter wouldn’t do anything while on the phone with him, while talking to his mentor.

Right?

_Right?_

Well, he was sitting very close to the edge in the video - he could’ve dropped his phone, or - or _fell_ , or-

Tony fought against an oncoming anxiety attack. His vision was beginning to spin.

“I’m building a LEGO set.”

 _Four minutes_.

 _Lies_. Why was he lying?

He put the phone on mute - _just for a second_ , he promised himself, his heart speeding at the trepidation of leaving Peter alone - and double-checked with F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“Fri, you’re sure that was Peter in the video?”

_“Yes, boss.”_

He unmuted the call, biting his lip. He froze when he caught himself doing it.

He hadn’t bitten his lip in _forever_. It was how he responded to stress when he was younger, in his early teenage years, but it had since stopped.

Why was it starting up again _now_?

He decided to ignore it and play along with his kid’s lie to keep him calm. Who knew what the kid would do if stressed?

“What kind of set, Peter?”

“Um, it’s, a - a Star Wars, uh, submarine.”

 _Three minutes_.

Alright. He could keep the kid talking for three more minutes.

 _Keep the kid breathing for three more minutes_.

Gosh, Tony wanted to punch his inner voice.

“Is Ned there with you?”

He heard Peter’s breath hitch on the other side of the line, and he wondered what was going on. What did he say wrong? Respond - Peter, _please_ respond.

“N-no.”

The kid’s voice shook and Tony’s breath quickened. Okay, uh, change of topic, change of topic, what-

“So, where are you working on it, Pete? Are you on the roof, or the school library, or-”

“Roof,” Peter’s voice was quick to respond, trembling. Gosh, what was Tony saying _wrong_? He needed to calm his kid down before anything happened.

Suddenly, Tony remembered the technique he had found online when having an anxiety attack.

Stimulate the senses.

“Alright, kid. I hear cars in the back. Do you hear them, too?”

Peter’s voice quivered. “Uh, yeah, Mr. Stark, I do.”

Peter didn’t ask Tony why he was asking him these questions, or why he had called, which Tony took as a good sign. Maybe some subconscious part of him wanted Tony’s support, someone to talk to.

So Tony would provide that to him.

_Two minutes._

The bridge came into sight - not close enough yet to see Peter amidst the structural beams, _but close enough to see something fall off._

Tony bit back a curse. He wanted to tell that voice in his head to _just shut up_ , but he knew that wouldn’t work, because that voice was just him, just the thoughts he wanted to keep hidden, the ideas he never let anyone see.

“And what do you feel right now, bud?”

Peter seemed to forget about his lie of the LEGO set - but his answer was quick, no hesitation, which meant he was also calming down.

“Wind,” he said, almost serenely - and Tony was debating whether that scared him more than the eerie stillness his voice had taken on previously. “I can feel wind, Mr. Stark.”

“Great, kid.” He found himself smiling slightly as Peter was slowly starting to calm down. “You’re doing great.” He sighed deeply as the bridge got closer. He was almost there, _almost there_. He searched for Peter among the structural beams, but he still wasn’t close enough yet.

“And, what do you see?”

Suddenly, Tony heard sobbing from the otherside of the phone. It hadn’t worked, it _hadn’t worked-_

“Water,” Peter panted. “I - I see water.”

 _Okay_ , Tony tried to console himself. He was okay, he was still listening - but he was crying. _Why was he crying?_

_One minute._

Okay, almost there. Faster, faster, _faster_ -

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s breath hitched.

“Yeah, Peter?”

His voice was eerily still again.

And Tony hated it.

“I - I lied.”

Tony pushed his suit faster as the figure on top of the bridge came into view, and the reality of the situation sunk in.

Peter was sitting _very_ close to the edge.

Tony’s breath caught in his throat as the figure began to sway under a heavy breeze.

Faster, faster, _faster_ -

“I’m not on the roof building LEGO sets,” he whispered as tears began to obstruct Tony’s vision at the sound of his kid’s broken voice. “I actually-”

He cut himself off as he choked back a sob, just as Tony finally reached the bridge. He hovered silently over his kid, and slowly lowered himself down behind him.

The sight broke him.

Peter was sitting, alone, the East River and New York City stretched out below him. His phone was held to his ear with trembling fingers, his shoulders shaking, a messy tangle of hair slowly moving in the wind. The hand not holding the phone was jammed in a fist against his mouth, Peter removing it only long enough to say his next words.

“Mr. Stark, I think I need help.”

And Tony broke.

He quickly disengaged his suit, the sudden gust of wind of the high elevation causing him to stumble slightly, tears now flowing freely down his face.

Tony knew it was hard for Peter. He knew he was being bullied at school, he knew the death of three of his parental figures had deeply affected him, and his idea of all of Queens relying on him (no matter how many times Tony had assured him that burden didn’t rest solely on him) couldn’t have helped his situation.

He just had never imagined Peter would have turned to _this_.

“Turn around, Peter,” he whispered, taking his phone out of his pocket and transferring the call only to say those few words. And Peter listened.

But if Tony thought Peter was broken before, he wasn’t the slightest bit prepared for the look he saw on his kid’s face.

His brown eyes were full of emotion, but - _dead_ at the same time, full of water as they left tear tracks down his face, and Tony realized this must’ve been what Peter meant when he said _I see water_.

His cheeks had nail marks down them. _He had been scratching his face._

Peter pulled his feet, which were previously dangling off the edge of the platform, up underneath him as he stood, breath heavy, tears increasing with every second. He hesitated for a moment, his legs shaking so terribly Tony was  _terrified_ he was going to fall, and stumbled into Tony’s arms.

His hands clutched Tony’s back, gripping fistfuls of his shirt, and sobbed into his chest as Tony threaded a hand through his curls, the other rubbing circles into his back, holding him close. His tears joined Peter’s on the metal supports of the bridge as his eyes, his chin resting on his kid’s head, searched the city beneath them.

His thoughts found their way to what would’ve happened if he had arrived any later.

He wasn’t sure if Peter would’ve actually gone through with it. He didn’t know what had brought on these feelings, this dire action, but whatever it was, Tony was just glad he had arrived when he did.

Gosh, he wanted to _punch_ whoever had done this to his kid. And if it wasn’t a person, he just wanted to hold Peter close and make sure nothing _that bad_ ever touched him again. As he held his kid close, felt the tears soak through his shirt and hands clutch his back like a lifeline, he vowed he would protect his kid from anything. Anything and everything that had the possibility to hurt him, he would remove it from the world immediately. He was going to protect his kid. On his _life_ , he would protect his kid.

Soon enough, Peter ran out of tears to cry. He sat there, in the arms of his mentor, just holding him close. And Tony was content with that.

He would hold Peter. He would be there for him.

As long as it took.

“Why don’t we go home, bud?” Tony murmured into his hair, his hand weaving up and down his kid’s back. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate, and maybe we can watch a movie or something, alright?”

He felt Peter nod into his chest as he slowly put his hands on his kid’s shoulder and separated them. His heart yearned at the distance, but he quickly called his suit back to him, and Peter was clutched to his chest right after.

Tony had thought the metal after contact with a person would’ve bothered the kid, but Peter must’ve sensed comfort in it. Because it wasn’t just a hunk of metal, it was Iron Man. It was _his_ Iron Man, as the hum of the arc reactor against his cheek reminded him.

Tony gripped the kid tight and held him close as he flew him home, the city stretching beneath them. The journey seemed to take a much shorter time now that he wasn’t racing against the clock, and he surprised himself by touching down on the roof of the tower sooner than he expected to. He disengaged the suit again and let it follow him inside as he slung an arm around Peter, both of Peter’s own arms wrapped tightly around Tony like a koala, and led the kid inside.

He deposited him on a couch in the main area and wrapped him in a blanket, before hurrying to the kitchen to make hot chocolate like he promised. He didn’t turn on the movie just yet - he wanted to talk with Peter first.

He made the two cups - one overflowing with marshmallows, the other without - and handed he former to Peter as he sat on the couch beside him. Peter cradled the cup between his torso and his knees, which were tucked to his chest with his feet on the couch, and hugged it with both hands, thanking Tony quietly - but his eyes looked dissociated, like he wasn’t really _there_.

Tony sat beside him, neither one touching their drink. Tony had a hand rested on Peter’s knee as he sat quietly, his eyes focused on the cooling cup in his hands.

Tony sighed. “Peter,” he whispered quietly as a tear dripped its way down Peter’s cheek. “Why were you up on that bridge?” His voice was gentle, concerned, as he watched his kid warily, worried - but Peter refused to look back at him.

“Peter, please,” he begged. “Let me _help_ you.”

Peter just shook his head as his head tilted back and his eyes found their way to the ceiling. Tony knew the shaking of the head didn’t mean _no_ \- it meant he didn’t know what to say.

Tony understood the feeling.

“Can I ask you some yes or no questions? Would that help?”

Peter paused for a moment before nodding. Tony followed suit, wondering where to start.

“Were you on that bridge for long?” Peter shrugged. “You can’t tell?” Peter nodded.

Shit. The kid had _dissociated_. That - that made this whole thing worse.

“Do you remember what time you went up there?” A nod. “After midnight?” He shook his head. Tony froze. “ _Before_?” He nodded.

“Gosh, kid, you were up there for _over two hours_ ? It’s _cold_ , Pete!”

Peter flinched. Tony felt like crap for causing it.

“I didn’t feel it.”

Tony’s world spun.

“You - _you didn’t feel it_ ?” Peter froze before shaking his head, looking scared to answer. “Peter, you have the traits of a spider. You get colder faster than the average human. You’re meaning to tell me, you were outside for _over two hours_ in the middle of fall, and you _didn’t feel cold_?”

He wanted to get angry at his kid. He wanted to tell him off for being so reckless, so _idiotic_ , putting himself in danger of hypothermia, of - of _suicide_ -

The word made him clutch a hand to his chest. _Suicide_ . Gosh, it was all so _real_ now. His kid was dissociating, sitting alone 350 feet up, not feeling the cold even though he was sitting alone in the middle of fall in a short sleeve shirt - who knows what would’ve happened if Tony hadn’t showed up when he did? Would Peter have actually _jumped_?

“Peter-” Tony’s voice trembled as he felt a tear trace its way down his cheek. “Peter, you _scared me to death_ ,” he panted between tears, Peter’s eyes still focused down, staying perfectly still. He _hated_ himself for doing this to Tony, the man he thought of as a father figure, making him feel so upset, so much _pain_ \- but he _really_ didn’t have a choice. He had tore up the suit Mr. Stark had made for him, he let that girl on the street get killed, Ned was in the hospital because of him-

“ _Ned’s in the hospital_ ?” Tony exhaled in disbelief. Peter looked up, shocked. _Had he said that whole thing out loud?_

“Peter, Ned’s in the _hospital_? What happened?”

A fresh set of tears made their way to Peter’s eyes as he finally brought them up to meet Tony’s wide, brown ones.

“We - we were in the library, studying, and then Flash came in-” Tony nodded. He had heard about Flash. The name of the kid made his blood boil, but he fought to keep his expression calm for the kid. “We were behind some shelves, so the teachers couldn’t see, and he started, uh, pushing me, and stuff, and he-” Peter started breathing heavily and he rushed to wipe away his tears. “I hit a bookshelf, and it - it fell-” Peter swallowed heavily, and he couldn’t continue to tell the story. Tony sat quietly, absorbing what he had just heard.

 _The library. That’s_ why he was so quick to cut Tony off, why he said he wasn’t with Ned.

Tony was already planning what to do. Find out which hospital Ned’s at, transfer him to Tony’s own med bay, and treat him there. Find Flash, get him suspended. _Expelled_ , if possible. He didn’t want that kid anywhere _near_ his own. Get the entire staff fired, and hire new, more competent teachers-

“And - and the,” Peter gasped from his tears, pulling Tony out of his thoughts. Tony’s attention immediately returned to the kid who had begun to _shake_ , his hands trembling around the mug in his hands.

“I was on patrol, and there was this girl, and a guy - they - they were in an a-alleyway, and I went to stop them but I was reck-reckless and I didn’t check and the guy had a - he had a _gun_ and he _shot_ her and I couldn’t - I couldn’t _save her_ , Mr. Stark!”

Peter was full-out crying now, waterfalls cascading down his cheeks. Tony wanted to reach out and touch his arm, hug him, provide him comfort, but Peter wasn’t done.

“And then I - I thought of Uncle - Uncle Ben and I freaked and I left and I _didn’t even check if the girl was ok_ and I let the guy get away and I scraped my suit and I wrecked it and _I’m sorry Mr. Stark and-”_

The boy collapsed into tears as Tony reached forwards to comfort him. Just at that moment, the mug slipped out of Peter’s unsteady hands and went crashing to the floor, shards of ceramic flying everywhere, the no-longer-hot chocolate spreading across the floor. Peter stared down at it, horrified.

“ _Shit_ \- I mean, shoot, I-” Peter hurried to push himself to the floor before Tony could stop him and began to gather the shards into a pile with his hands, cutting them in the process. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I’m sorry, I’m _so so sorry_ -”

Drops of red were beginning to mix with the brown of the drink as Tony rushed to the floor beside his kid, quickly reaching for his wrists and holding them back from the shards as Peter fought to pick them up, crying through his tears.

Tony knew what was going on. _Sensory overload._ Peter had been fighting so much for so long so that the slightest, smallest, most unimportant event set him off.

It’s a good thing Tony was so flawed, and experienced all these things himself, so he knew how to deal with this.

He sat behind Peter and tugged his wrists backwards until Peter fell into his chest, before wrapping his arms around him tightly and comforting him as he cried. His sobs pierced the silence as Tony gently rocked him back and forth, switching between looking up at the ceiling and down at his kid.

And there they sat for the next ten minutes, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Eventually, Peter fell asleep, still encompassed within Tony’s arms. Tony easily lifted the kid bridal style and carried him upstairs before gently depositing him into Tony's own bed and pulling the covers over him. Tony took a cloth, humming to himself to calm down, wet it with lukewarm water in his bathroom, and gently began to wipe the semi-dried blood off of Peter's hands.

Peter startled and his eyes twitched open at the new sensation.

“Mr. Stark?” he mumbled quietly, too tired to say the words in a fully articulate manner. Tony hummed in response, flashing him a quick, small smile before returning to his work on the kid’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” the kid whispered quietly as Tony continued.

“Sorry for what, kiddo?”

“For getting up on the bridge,” he mumbled, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. Tony, finishing his job, gently set his hand down and turned his body so his full attention was on the kid beneath the sheets, whose tired brown eyes were watching him guiltily.

“Pete, I need you to tell me one thing, okay? And be honest, please,” Tony muttered, suddenly serious. Peter nodded. Tony took a quiet breath.

“Were you actually going to jump?”

He held his breath, waiting for the answer. He seemed to wait for years, his world coming to a standstill, when, mere seconds later, Peter… _nodded_.

Tony exhaled sharply as Peter began to cry silently. Tony figured he was doing the same as a heavy pain came crashing down on his chest, pressure increasing sharply as he found it hard to breathe.

“I - I’m _sorry_ ,” Peter repeated, but Tony just shook his head, biting his lip, looking anywhere but his kid. He couldn’t look at him right now.

 _What?_ Tony grimaced when he realized the thought that had just crossed his mind. He was being so, _so_ selfish. Peter had almost killed himself. Jumped off a bridge. And Tony was acting like _he_ was the one that was affected?

He immediately brought his gaze back to the kid who was watching him worriedly, scared of how he would react.

“Peter,” he breathed out, just a notch up from silent. He immediately lowered himself to the bed to lie beside Peter and wrap his arms gently around him, Peter responding by folding his own arms up to grip the one Tony had wrapped around his front, both of them wanting to cry, but none of them having the tears left to.

“Peter, you-” Tony stopped himself again. He didn’t know what to say. Finally, he just decided to spit it out.

“Peter, do you know how much it would affect me if you went through with that?” he finally managed to gasp, as he felt Peter tremble beside him. “Peter, you mean so, _so much_ to me, do you understand that?”

Peter started to say something, but Tony cut it off.

“I love you, Peter.”

The boy froze as the words hung in the air between them, neither one knowing what to say.

Tony had debated using those words for a while. He never wanted to say them, for fear of regret afterwards, but he was surprised to feel none at this moment.

If Peter didn’t say it back, if Peter didn’t feel the same way about Tony as a father as Tony did to Peter being his son, Tony didn’t care. Because he said it. Because he _meant_ it. And he just needed Peter to know.

“I love you, too,” Peter whispered, his mouth turning up into a smile. A small, hopeful smile. A hope for a better, happier future, with someone in his corner.

“But,” Tony froze mid-smile at the word. “now I have a question for you.”

“Yeah, anything, bud,” Tony was quick to answer, fearing the worst.

“If you heard me say that stuff about - about Ned, and the girl in the a-alleyway, and stuff-”

He cut himself off. Tony waited patiently as Peter continued, near-silent. Tony had to strain to hear him.

“Did you hear me refer to you as my father figure?”

Tony suddenly barked out a hearty laugh, and it interrupted the tense silence between the two. The room seemed to suddenly shine with newfound colour and vibrancy as Peter joined in, and they both sat, smiling, holding the other close.

“Yeah, kid, I heard.” Peter quieted. “But I’ll pretend I didn’t, if you want.”

The room was quiet once again.

“No, I - I wanted you to hear it,” Peter whispered.

“Good,” Tony spoke, smiling - and he was sure it came through in his tone. “Because I like having you as my son.”

They both turned to look at each other then, and Tony, getting caught up in the moment, leaned over and planted a kiss on Peter’s forehead, at the base of the kid’s curls. They both stared at each other, surprised at the sudden burst of emotion from the usually composed Tony Stark. Then, they both burst out laughing once again, and Tony held his kid close.

“Go to sleep, now. It’s _three a.m_.” Peter chuckled. “‘Night, Pete.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tony wasn’t sure what to expect the next morning.

His internal clock waking him before dawn, he slowly detangled himself from Peter’s arms, trying his hardest not to look at his kid’s face.

If he did, Tony was scared his whole world would come crashing down.

Instead, he focused straight ahead as he padded down the hallway, F.R.I.D.A.Y. faintly illuminating the tower with gentle lighting suitable for sensitive, early-morning eyes. He greeted her quietly as he stepped down the stairs and headed to the kitchen to make the kid breakfast, like every morning.

It was Wednesday, but there was no way in hell Tony was letting Peter go to school. Not after last night. He knew the kid would fight him on it - he wouldn’t miss school for anything as _unimportant_ as his mental health-

Tony froze, the pan in his hand almost clattering to the floor when it suddenly went limp.

How often had Peter had these episodes? These bad days where he suffered in silence, and then woke up the next morning, smiling and attending school like nothing was wrong?

And, Tony continued as he began to mix pancake batter (Peter’s favourite breakfast), how often had Peter padded down those stairs in the morning, through this very hallway, and smiled at Tony, who took it to mean the kid was fine?

Because Peter was fine. Peter was _always_ fine.

It had never struck Tony that Peter might be facing one of the hardest battles of all - the one within himself.

As Tony bagan to pour the first batch of batter onto the pan, he began to realize that there was no way he was going to be able to avoid the upcoming conversation. Not that he wanted to, of course. What Peter had done the night before, it - it was a cry for help.

And Tony would answer.

He just... didn’t know how.

By this point, the action of flipping the pancakes and putting them on a plate had become second nature to Tony, and he allowed himself to plan out the interaction he would have with Peter as he continued to stack the pancakes high.

It all depended if Peter came down happy and smiling, like every other morning, or if he was ignoring that in favour of how he was _really_ feeling. Well, if he was happy and smiling, Tony would-

Nope. No idea.

Okay then, let’s try from the other perspective. If he was quiet and reflective-

Tony hit a wall.

He had _no idea_ how to speak to his kid, how to comfort him. And he had to do it _right_ , or Peter - or Peter might get right back up on that bridge.

 _Better security_ . The thought popped into Tony’s mind. That was the first step. Monitor Peter at all times. And not just in the suit, _everywhere_ . Give him a - a watch or something, with a built-in tracker. If he doesn’t go straight to school and back, if he stays after school for even a minute after he’s supposed to, Tony would be notified. Immediately. No matter the meetings he was in, clients he was with - he had to know where the kid was. _At all times._

Tony set the pancakes on the table and ran a hand down his face. He knew how suffocating he was being. He knew Peter would _hate_ it. But he didn’t know what else to do.

Shuffling footsteps made him freeze.

Tony took a breath, attempting (key word) to calm his mind.

One step at a time.

Tony turned to the door to where Peter was entering the kitchen, smiling, bouncing, curls swaying like every other morning.

Though, what stood out most to Tony was how his smile just… didn’t reach his eyes. His feet dragged on the tile with every other step. His eyes were red around the edges. He didn’t make eye contact. Either looking at Tony’s eyebrows or just beneath his bottom lashes - but never directly at his eyes.

Then again, Tony couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Peter _without_ these symptoms.

Gosh, how long had this been going on and Tony _hadn’t noticed_?

He felt like shit.

Because Peter, even after that whole episode of last light,

looked exactly the same.

“Morning, kiddo.” Tony was surprised at how strong his voice was, how it managed not to stutter or quiver. This morning was playing out like every one before, and Tony _hated_ it.

“Morning, Mr. Stark.”

Peter padded over to the table and grabbed a seat as Tony placed two sets of plates and cutlery on the table, adding the syrup as a final touch before joining his kid. Peter began shoveling the pancakes onto his plate as Tony watched him - watched his lifeless eyes, his shaking hands, his pale face.

Finally he finished and Tony added a single pancake to his own dish, not expecting to be able to eat too much, and Peter began cutting and wolfing down the pile that almost hid his face from view.

Tony couldn’t help but wonder if he did it intentionally.

“You can slow down there, bud. Take your time. You’re not going to school today.”

Peter froze and leaned around his stack.

“Wait, it _is_ Wednesday, right?”

Tony took this to mean he was confused by Tony’s comment, and didn’t think about how it might’ve meant Peter was dissociating and lost track of time. No, the thought didn’t even cross Tony’s mind. Nope. Not even once.

“Yeah,” Tony answered, “but I thought you could take the day off today and we could go do something fun, you know? You’ve just been so busy with homework lately, and I feel I haven’t been seeing you as much.”

A look of doubt, and - was that fear? - flashed across Peter’s features.

“No - I mean, I’d _like_ to, but there’s just some homework due today, and I have a test tomorrow and if I’m not at school I might miss some important information-”

“No arguments.” Tony pretended not to see Peter flinch as he interrupted. “We’re going to have fun today whether you like it or not.”

Tony was pleased when he saw the kid’s mouth turn up in the tiniest smile. Okay, good. That was progress.

“Okay,” Peter finally conceded, shrugging as he returned to his pancakes, eating them just a tad slower now. Tony added an extra pancake onto his first one, relaxing slightly. Alright, he still had a little longer to plan out this discussion with Peter. Right now - well, right now Tony was just grateful to still _have_ Peter.

They ate their pancakes in silence, and it was tense, but not exactly uncomfortable. Because the two had each other, and - well, it still wasn’t okay. It was all far from okay. But maybe together they could _make_ it okay.

At least, Tony hoped so.

“Well then, what do you want to do today? There’s nothing on my schedule for the entire day. I’m all yours, kid.”

Peter listened to the voice of his mentor (his dad?), but for whatever reason he couldn’t bring himself to focus on it. Well, he heard, but he wasn’t listening. No, he was _listening_ , but-

Geez, Peter just couldn’t describe it. It was like he was in a bubble, where everything outside was just… muted. His ears felt like they were clogged but at the same time he heard everything clearly, and his eyes were blurry but his sight was fine, and it didn’t feel like a bubble rather than a block of concrete pressing down on his chest-

Peter wondered if everyone else was feeling like this. I mean, they had to be, right? Peter himself had been feeling this way for so long he wasn’t sure how he could possibly be feeling _normal_ after it all was over.

Or, was _this_ normal?

Would it _ever_ be over?

“You get to choose, Pete. Anywhere you wanna go, something you wanna see? You know, you’re currently hanging out with one of the richest men in the world. Price limits, long lines, they don’t apply to me. I suggest you take advantage of this.”

Peter gave a small chuckle as he raised his head to make eye contact with his, um, his _dad_ \- no, that would take some getting used to. Maybe he’d just stick with mentor for now. He didn’t want to force anything.

“There’s nothing I wanna do, really.”

Peter felt a pang in his chest when he realized how _true_ this statement was. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually wanted to do something, see something. The last time he had enough hope to _dream_ for something. Recently, he’d just been… _existing_. Wake up, school, go to sleep. Repeat. A few times spent eating throughout the day, if he remembered to.

No room for dreams.

No hope for adventure.

Suddenly, a memory popped into Peter’s mind.

Fourth of July, 2009. Peter was seven.

He remembered watching the fireworks with Aunt May in a nearby park Peter couldn’t remember the name of, and how he was just… mesmerized. From prior experiences watching the show, he knew he had a favourite - the ones that cascaded quietly like waterfalls. They were so pretty, so serene, and Peter absolutely _loved_ watching them, and trying to figure out exactly how they worked.

He loved all the fireworks, though; not just the waterfall ones. The colours, the different shapes, the loud BOOM that would reverberate through the park and make Peter smile with crazy energy.

But lately, they just… didn’t hold the same effect.

Peter knew the feeling would be lost with age. He knew he wouldn’t experience the same childlike wonder as he did when he was seven.

He just didn’t expect he would lose _all_ feeling _completely_.

The summer after Aunt May died, Peter remembered Tony asking him if he wanted to go watch the fireworks over the water. Peter declined, partly because he had homework, and also because he just… didn’t want to. And the fact that he had _loved_ them just a few years ago, compared with the fact that he was so indifferent now, _terrified_ him.

But that night, as he watched them from his window, he just couldn’t find it in himself to like them. He tried - he looked for all the pretty colours and shapes he used to love - but the only aspect he ended up finding comfort in was the waterfall fireworks.

Because they were silent. On their own.

And, even though they were pretty and shimmering in their rise…

they always fell.

The sound of Tony whistling jostled Peter out of his thoughts. He looked up, startled, as Tony raised his eyebrows at him.

“I think I lost you there, bud.”

Peter chuckled (rather humorlessly, he thought), eyes returning to his place as he finished his last piece of pancake.

“Yeah, sorry. Just tired.”

Gosh, if Peter had a nickel for every time he used that excuse….

He wasn’t looking up to see Tony’s reaction to this comment.

“Well then, what do you want to do today?”

Oh, gosh, that question again. Didn’t Peter already say, he didn’t know? He didn’t know, he didn’t _care_ \- was it too late to still make it to school on time?

“It’s up to you.”

Peter wanted to pull his hair out in frustration at the repeat of those words. Gosh, he wished Tony would just _shut up_ -

Wait. No, geez, _no_ , he did _not_ wish that, he-

It was just that Tony’s voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard-

No, _that_ wasn’t true, either.

Gosh, why couldn’t Peter just _voice his thoughts_ ? What was _wrong_ with him?

“Pete, are you-”

“Central Park!” Peter shouted over the voices in his head, flinching back when they quieted and he realized how loud his voice actually was. Tony looked at him with - confusion? Worry?

Peter forced a chuckle. “Sorry. Just got a little over-excited.” Lies. But he had to keep talking or the voices would return and his thoughts were _so loud_ and he wished they would just- “I want to go to Central Park today.” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a hurry before the voices could return.

Tony watched him for a second longer and Peter met his gaze, hoping it conveyed a message of, _I’m okay_. Judging by Tony’s expression it didn’t, but he let it go, instead standing to move his dishes to the sink. Peter followed suit.

“Alright bud, I’ll clean up here,” Tony told him, turning on the water to rinse off the plates. “You go get ready to leave. And dress warm, it’s cold.”

Peter nodded, smiling, as he left the kitchen - though, he let it fall as soon as Tony couldn’t see him, his shoulders falling forwards and his feet dragging on the tile once more.

Gosh, acting happy, acting _okay_ , was so exhausting. How Peter wished he could be that way all the time, like everyone else seemed to be - effortlessly smiling and laughing, making conversation like it wasn’t an issue, like it didn’t physically pain them to smile with teeth. Peter was jealous.

Nonetheless, he managed to change into a pair of jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and the first hoodie he came across in his drawers, not noticing it was one of Tony’s MIT sweaters.

He marched back down the stairs after what couldn’t have been more than two minutes, so he was surprised to see Tony waiting at the door wearing jogging pants, a zip-up hoodie, a baseball cap, and sunglasses, the kitchen spotless.

“You okay, kid? You’ve been up there a while.”

Peter froze from where he was standing on the second-to-last step.

“Wait, how long?”

A look of confusion crossed Tony’s face.

“You had to be at least 20 minutes, kid.”

Peter fought not to let the confusion show on his face, though it was clearly evident on Tony’s, as he avoided eye contact and started to put on his shoes.

“Yeah. I lied down on my bed for a minute. Kind of tired.” There was that lie again. He didn’t turn to see Tony’s face before walking out the door, the brisk fall wind providing a small relief to his otherwise numb emotions. He heard Tony follow and pull the door shut behind him but didn’t turn back to look as he started down the driveway. Tony’s quick footsteps grew louder as he jogged to join the teen.

“Whoa there, wait up, Pete,” he huffed as he caught up to Peter and fell into step beside him. Peter kept his head pointed straight ahead, not looking at Tony. If he did…

he was scared of what Tony would see.

A lot could be revealed in a glance, and Peter didn’t want Tony knowing _anything_.

This whole _depression_ thing, Peter could deal with it. Had been for a while. He knew what Tony was doing, and part of him was glad because he knew he needed help - but the other part was petrified.

What if Tony made him see a therapist? (Again, a part of Peter knew that would be good for him, but if he didn’t know how to voice his thoughts within his own _mind_ , how was he supposed to speak to another person?)

What if Tony started talking about… last night? Peter wasn’t sure how to explain that. He wasn’t sure if he _could_ . He had made himself vulnerable. He had been honest with Tony because that’s what he felt like he needed to do, but after a (semi) good night’s sleep he realized that was the _wrong_ thing to do.

Gosh, why did he say anything? He was doing so _well_ with the whole lying and pretending thing; why did he ruin that whole thing in honour of one _single_ conversation?

Tony cleared his throat and Peter was jostled out of his own mind.

“Did I lose you again, Pete?”

Peter’s heartbeat quickened. Tony was talking about last night. He was talking about losing Peter to suicide. He was going to start asking questions, and Peter wasn’t sure if he could _answer_ -

“You like daydreaming, huh?”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, thank _goodness_.

He gave an awkward chuckle and nodded, turning his attention to the buildings around him as they headed down the street.

Peter loved being outside in the fresh air and surrounded by nature. Unfortunately, you don’t get much of that in New York. The buildings were suffocating him, and he had to tilt his head all the way up to see the blue sky as he forced himself to take deep breaths.

He was outside. There was fresh air constantly entering his lungs. So what if there were buildings on all sides? He could still _breathe_. There was no reason for him to be short of breath.

But he was.

The buildings seemed to shrink in on Peter as he looked around himself. Right, left, behind - they were _everywhere_ . He couldn’t see a single tree, a single bush. A single _leaf_ . Oh, gosh, he couldn’t _breathe_.

Peter fought to get air into his lungs as he tried not to let his situation known to Tony. It was all so _dumb_ . Peter should be able to breathe. Heck, he _was_ breathing. Why he didn’t feel it, he had no idea; but now he was beginning to panic as he felt deprived of oxygen.

His chest was tightening, the buildings pressed in closer, his vision began to swim as his breath grew shallow.

He was going to die. Oh, gosh, he was going to _die_.

And all because of a few stupid _buildings_.

Gosh, what a pathetic way to go.

Tony must hate him.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice echoed in Peter’s mind as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Peter gripped it tight, looking up at Tony with wide eyes.

 _Help me_.

“Peter, what is it, buddy?” Tony dropped to a knee in front of his kid, searching his eyes for something, _anything_ , to tell him what was wrong.

Peter’s mouth was agape, his shoulders rising and falling heavily, his chest moving irregularly.

Tony thought he could guess what was happening.

“Hey, hey, kid.” He placed one of Peter’s hands over his own heart as Tony used his hand to rub circles onto Peter’s back. “Breathe with me, alright? In… and out.” Peter tried, but the deep breath in just left him without air for longer and now it was _really_ bad and now there was no air _at all_ and-

“Peter. Hey. Listen to my voice. Breathe. In… and out.” Again Peter tried. The breath came a tad bit easier to him now, but his vision was still swimming, buildings still closing in-

“You’re safe right now.”

_It didn’t feel that way._

“This will fade away.”

_No it won’t._

“You are not in danger.”

_Yes I am._

“You are getting enough air.”

_No I’m not._

“You are starting to relax.”

_Maybe I am._

“You feel calmer.”

_I guess I do._

“You are going to be okay.”

Peter watched Tony with wide eyes as, finally, he was able to… _breathe_ again. It was like a cloud had lifted. Don’t be fooled, the storm was still raging, but at least the sky was a bit more clear, if only a tad.

Peter didn’t notice tears forming until he felt one wet his cheek.

“You’re okay.” Tony pulled Peter tight against his chest, holding him there securely as he continued to run circles down his back.

“Was - was that an anxiety attack?” Peter’s muffled voice reverberated from where Tony held him against his chest. He lightly pushed his kid back to look him in the eye.

“I don’t think so, buddy.” Peter looked just the tiniest bit relieved. “Just an anxiety-based reaction.” Not so relieved.

“Anxiety-based?” His breath quickened. Peter knew about the depression. He _did not_ know about the anxiety.

“Yeah, kid, it just means you got a bit too stressed out.” _Which is the_ opposite _of what this outing was supposed to do._

Peter looked confused, and - _worried_ . Why was he worried? Even Tony knew Peter had anxiety. It was obvious. He put _way_ too much pressure on himself as spiderman, and after he had lost all _four_ of his parental figures? It was no surprise.

But how did _Peter_ not know?

That’s a problem for a different day. Today, Tony’s only goal was to get Peter to open up. _Not_ shut down.

“Do you know what caused you to stress, Pete?”

The boy just shook his head.

“I don’t know.” A second tear traced a path down his cheek. “I’m sorry.” He hurried to wipe it away. _I’m weak._

“No, no, you are not allowed to apologize,” Tony replied, firm but gentle. “Sometimes these things just happen, Pete. It is most definitely _not_ your fault.”

Peter nodded his head, pursing his lips as he continued to wipe away his tears.

“Now, come on. I thought we were going to the park.” Tony held out a hand, gesturing for Peter to step ahead of him so Tony could watch him from behind, but still remain in the sight of Peter’s peripherals.

Tony was worried - he was _terrified_ for his kid. _Suicide_ ? That was no small act. Tony himself, with all the shit he had to deal with as a kid, had never had the courage to do _that_.

So how could the kid?

How was Tony failing his kid so much, he wanted to just… _die_?

A shudder ran through Tony’s spine. Oh, gosh, his kid-

His kid was ready to do it.

If Tony hadn’t made F.R.I.D.A.Y. so aware, he might’ve been making funeral plans at this very moment.

Tony didn’t know how Peter would want his funeral to play out. As superheroes, they knew they could die any day on the job, and Tony found dark humour in the fact that they never once talked about what the other would like for the funeral. What colour flowers? Cremated or buried?

Tony’s eyes widened when he realized what the _fuck_ he was thinking about.

They never discussed those things because _they would never happen_.

Yeah, sure, Peter would die.

_Over Tony’s dead body._

Time for a pep talk.

Tony had to step it up.

Peter had been standing on top of a bridge, ready to jump, not even 24 hours ago. And now Tony was standing here, useless as a white crayon, not doing a _thing_ to help him.

Well then, Tony guessed he just needed some black paper.

Clearly, the kid wasn’t going to talk. He wasn’t going to open up easily. So Tony had to find other matters, other ways, to help him.

Buildings fanned out on either side of the pair as they walked, Peter keeping his eyes straight ahead (searching for the green of the park, probably), as Tony’s constantly moving eyes were searching for an answer. Though he knew he wouldn’t find one in a building, they helped him to think. To collect ideas, voice his thoughts.

Because each one was so different. City planners had to compare multiple ideas when putting up a new high rise. Maybe one building shape was good for a specific use, but not another. Sure, banks were a good place to keep money, but no one wants to sleep in a vault.

A white crayon was useless on a white page, so Tony just had to get a black one.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony noticed Peter’s eyes trained on the ground the entire way to the park - even as they passed all the buildings he used to love, all the people he used to smile at, the dogs he loved to meet, and, Tony noticed with a pang in his chest, the pretzel stand just outside the entrance Peter used to love to visit.

He watched as Peter trudged past it without a second glance, barely looking up as he took his first step into the park.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony called, Peter looking up in vague confusion and surprise. Tony couldn’t help but notice he looked… _lost_. Not mentally, but literally. Like he had forgotten how he had gotten there.

“Pretzel?”

Tony gestured his hand to the stand behind him, hoping to see some recognition in the kid’s face.

He was sincerely disappointed.

Peter looked up at the pretzel stand after quickly scanning his surroundings.

_How had he gotten to the park?_

He was walking, and then…

How long ago did he leave the tower?

Wait, today was _Wednesday_! Why wasn’t Peter at school?

Gosh, Tony would be _so mad_ Peter was skipping.

Why was Peter skipping?

Wait, Tony had asked him a question.

Wait, Tony was _right in front_ of him.

 _Oh_.

Central Park.

Peter’s breakdown.

The memories came rushing back, causing Peter’s vision to spin momentarily as a minor headache pierced his skull.

Okay, Tony’s question. Something about a…

_pretzel?_

Hundreds of memories bubbled to the surface of Peter’s mind when he noticed _Pablo’s Pretzel Stand_ printed on the small shack Tony was gesturing to, the yellow and blue sign seeming to call to him and beckon him closer. Peter’s grade eight graduation, when he won his first Decathlon - so many happy memories were associated with this one place.

Which is why Peter expected to feel some kind of connection to it. A smile would come across his face before he could stop it and he would bound over, begging Tony to buy him a huge, salty pretzel as his heart filled with joy and happiness.

But it never came.

Peter _wanted_ to feel happy.

He _wanted_ to feel a sense of _connection_ to this place.

He should be feeling _something_ , right? I mean, this one pretzel stand held so many memories for him; it would be ludicrous for him to feel an empty, gaping hole in the middle of his chest, the once bright letters seeming dull, as he wondered how he felt such a lack of emotion in something that used to bring so much joy could be possible.

But that was exactly what he was feeling.

And it terrified him.

Peter forced a smile to cross his features, cringing at how difficult it seemed to be to force one to the surface.

“No thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Peter noticed the look of disappointment that crossed Tony’s face, but rather decided to ignore it. He knew Tony hated him. He knew he was disappointed. Peter understood that it was a burden, that Tony having to give up his entire day just to spend time with one insignificant child was a terrible waste of time. He wasn’t going to waste Tony’s money, too. Not on something as stupid and childish as a pretzel.

“Well, come on.” Tony clasped a hand on Peter’s shoulder and Peter almost toppled under the sudden weight. He had been feeling weak lately, but he had never noticed how weak he had actually _become_. “You wanted to see the park?”

Peter looked up at him with a faltering smile and eyes that seemed to scream _help me_ , before nodding weakly and taking his first step into the park.

Immediately after entering the shadows of the trees, Peter felt his whole demeanor lift.

The sounds of the city seemed to quiet as soon as Peter took that first step under the canopy of the trees, all that was left to be heard being the faint rustling of leaves and birds happily tweeting somewhere deeper within the park.

Peter found himself getting lost as the cool fall breeze caressed his face, the sunlight filtering through the thick canopies of trees blinding him with every second step. He felt Tony’s presence beside him and he knew a conversation was coming, but for the moment he just tried to enjoy it - him and his mentor, him and his _dad_ , enjoying the beautiful scene before them that was _nature_.

Peter always loved being out in nature. The fact that so much could grow - tree roots burrowing deep into the ground, flowers peeking through rocks in the earth, just reminded Peter that if nature could fight to live on, maybe he could, too.

Though, his plan wasn’t going so well. Peter had hoped the walk through nature would remind him that he was strong, that he _could_ do this, but all it seemed to be reminding him was that nature could succeed. _Nature_ was strong enough to live on.

But Peter couldn’t.

Peter paled in comparison.

Suddenly, the nature that had seemed so inspiring just a minute ago was taunting him now, just proving that Peter was weak. That Peter couldn’t be strong, that he would never _amount_ to anything.

If he even stayed alive that long to put in the work to.

Tony watched Peter’s face change from calm, to anxious, to _distress_ as his shoes lightly slapped on the path. He desperately wanted to reach out and start the conversation, but he had tried that. It hadn’t worked.

Maybe he would try letting his kid come to _him_ . After all, he knew how open Peter was about his feelings (or, used to be). He hoped Peter would come to him on his own time. And if he didn’t, well, Tony would have no choice but to use his own methods, because he couldn’t let Peter walk around with those _horrors_ in his head any longer.

Just the thought of it made Tony want to cry. His kid had done that. His kid had thought he had no other choice but to _die_. And that was a fucking terrifying thought.

Tony would give Peter the day. This one day to let the kid talk to him. He wouldn’t let Peter out of his sight, and by the end of it, if Peter still didn’t want to communicate on his own terms, Tony would talk to him on his. Either way, Tony was ending this _today_.

They walked through the park quietly, Peter’s eyes turning this way and that, and Tony tried to ignore how sad and _lost_ they looked whenever they looked in Tony’s direction. Tony, in turn, had his eyes trained solely on the kid. He had walked through the park before. He knew what it looked like. But even if he hadn’t, if this had been his first time seeing it, Tony knew he would still only have eyes for the kid. Peter was the only thing that mattered.

Tony was glad it was a Wednesday, where kids were at school and adults at work. The two got to walk through the park mainly undisturbed, and Tony was eternally grateful, because he wasn’t sure how the kid would fare with people everywhere. He knew that as much as Peter liked spending time with Tony and having that personal connection, strangers were a large cause of anxiety, and Tony wanted him as calm as possible.

 _Maybe I’ll make my own Central Park_ , Tony found himself thinking. _I’ve got the money. I’ll call is Central Parker_. Tony laughed at his own joke and immediately turned to repeat it out loud for Peter, but stopped when he almost ran into the kid.

Peter had stopped walking and was staring down at something in the pavement, bent down as he held out a hesitant hand. Tony slowly joined him on the ground, close enough to provide support, but not enough to be suffocating.

Peter’s hand was held just inches away from a light lavender flower, a generic-looking one that every child drew in their pictures. _Cosmos_ , Tony remembered from when his mother had taken him to this very same park when he was young, walking around with the wide-eyed boy, pointing out every unique piece of nature they came across.

“That’s a cosmos flower,” he murmured quietly, his mother saying the exact same words to him forty years ago. It was amazing how clearly he could remember the words, the voice. They put a smile on his face as he continued with the speech. “Means beautiful and orderly in Greek.” He paused a moment to let Peter reach out and gently caress the soft petals like Tony himself had done as a small child.

“But typically, it means ‘love flower’.”

Slowly, Peter withdrew his hand from the petals, but continued to rest back on his heels and just stare at it, growing alone, isolated, but strongly amongst the gravel of the path. The park was quiet around them, seeming to hold its breath as it looked down upon the two, crouched around the flower. There was no one else in sight, but even if there was, Tony wouldn’t have cared.

He didn’t think about how it would look to see the great Tony Stark and a young boy kneeling in the middle of Central Park around a single flower. All that mattered to him was remembering the speech his mother had told him so many years ago, and finishing it for his own son.

Slowly, Tony reached out and gingerly twisted the stem of the flower until it pulled free from its roots. “‘ _Used to illustrate one’s deepest feelings of love_ ,’” he repeated from the Google search he had done not too long ago.

That conversation with his mother had never left his mind, but during these last few years with Peter it had seemed to grow more and more important, and he had done some more research on those flowers, wondering if they had really represented everything Maria Stark had once told him.

They had. And so much more.

Tony slowly reached forwards to loop the stem into Peter’s curls, knowing he wouldn’t be opposed to the open display of affection.

So he was surprised when Peter jolted away, tears forming in his eyes.

Tony let the flower fall to the ground, forgotten, as he gently leaned forward to rest his hands on the kid’s shoulders, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Pete?” he spoke softly as the kid looked up at him, looking… _hurt_?

“You killed it,” he whispered, looking betrayed, and Tony looked back at him, horrified. _What had he killed?_ Oh gosh, what had he _killed_?

“The flower,” Peter continued quietly, and Tony’s heart sunk in his chest. “You just… killed it.”

Tony looked down at where it had been discarded on the floor. Peter was caring about… a _flower_ ? He knew Peter was sensitive. He didn’t know the _flower_ would upset him.

Until suddenly, it clicked into place.

Why Peter stopped to look at the flower in the first place.

“Peter, what did you see in that flower?” He let his hands fall into his lap as he let the kid collect himself, first looking down painfully at the flower, then up at Tony.

“It was strong,” he whispered, almost to himself. Tony had to strain to hear him, his eyes softening at the raw _emotion_ in Peter’s voice.

“It was alone,” he continued, looking back to where the flower lay, and suddenly the colours looked a lot less vibrant. “But it was _growing_ . And it was _surviving_ , and you - you-”

A feeling of _betrayal_ came over Peter. As soon as he saw that flower, he recognized _himself_ . Alone, abandoned, in the middle of the path. The colours weren’t exceptionally bright, but the flower was still shining, still _growing_ , despite the dry terrain around it.

And Mr. Stark had came along, despite all the flower’s efforts to fight and grow and _live_ , he had just pulled it out of the ground. Let it _wilt_ and _die_.

Suddenly, Peter’s thinking did a complete 180° turn.

Peter was crying.

Over a stinking _flower_.

What the heck was _wrong_ with him?

Oh, geez, he had just accused Tony of killing - of killing a damn _flower_.

_What the heck?_

“I’m sorry,” Peter sighed, looking down, dejected, ashamed, as suddenly he wasn’t feeling sad, he was just feeling… what was it, frustrated? With _himself_?

Why were feelings so _confusing_?

Geez, if Tony didn’t hate him before, he _definitely_ did now.

“Kid.” Tony’s voice pierced his thoughts, but Peter refused to look up. He just accused Tony of being a _murderer_. He was sure his face was flushed bright red.

Was it too late to run away?

Peter buried his face in his hands and pressed down, _hard_ , wanting to just squish himself out of existence.

But that didn’t work.

He ran his hands up into his hair, threaded them through, and _pulled_.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ -

“Peter, _geez_ , kid-”

Tony’s hands wrapped around Peter’s wrists and tried to pull them out, but Peter was holding fast. He didn’t deserve Tony’s sympathy, he didn’t deserve _Tony_ -

“Just let me die.”

Tony’s hands froze, and Peter realized he had said that _out loud_.

Crap.

That wasn’t a joke to be made in a situation like this, that wasn’t appropriate-

But now Peter just wanted to die _more_.

Fuck.

Wait, since when did Peter _swear_?

“Oh, kid,” Tony sighed, and Peter let his hands fall from his hair, too exhausted to keep pulling. He didn’t even know _why_ he was tired, but suddenly he was falling forwards, sobbing into Tony’s arms - and Tony let him.

He caught the kid and held him to his chest, rested his chin over Peter’s head, and let one hand thread through his curls while the other ran circles on his back.

He felt Peter’s body shake with the weight of his sobs, Tony’s shirt being soaked with tears, and his heart panged with sadness. He didn’t know having a kid could hurt _this much_.

As he held his kid, sobbing, Tony knew this wasn’t his fault. Not all of it, at least. He knew depression didn’t pick its victims. It struck whoever was nearby, not caring who they were, what they had done.

If depression cared, if it was _fair_ , Peter would be flying high as a kite right now while Tony, ever deserving, would be lying in a ditch.

But depression _didn’t_ care, and Peter, the kid, the _person_ , who deserved this least in the world, was being forced to carry a burden he should’ve never had to.

And Tony felt like this, like having to _cradle_ his sobbing kid in his arms, was a hundred times worse than anything depression could throw at him directly.

Gently, Tony supported Peter’s weight and guided him up to sit on a nearby park bench, sneaking the flower into his back pocket on the way. He set Peter on the bench beside him and let the kid lean into his shoulders, the sobs subsiding slightly, the occasional sniffle being the only sound between the two.

Tony’s heart ached for the kid, and he wished he could take his pain away. Peter didn’t deserve _any_ of this, not one bit, and when he finally heard the sniffles subside to a few soft gasps, he decided now was the time to show the kid how much he cared.

“What happened, Petey?” he murmured, rubbing a comforting hand along Peter’s arm, letting the kid lean into his side and rest his head against Tony’s shoulder. Peter just turned his head and buried it into Tony’s neck, and Tony’s heart _melted_ at the touch. He hated to put Peter through this, to force him to face his inner demons, but the sun always came after the storm. So he just needed to push through.

“I know it sucks, Pete, I know,” he muttered into his kid’s matted curls, and Peter let out a shuddering breath. “I just want to help you. Please, let me help you.”

Peter burrowed his head deeper into Tony’s shoulder, hoping Tony would shield him (from what, neither one knew), and Tony let him. He would protect his kid from anything, _everything_ , he could. But it pained him to know, that this problem was one Tony couldn’t protect him from.

But he would try.

Tony waited quietly, knowing Peter was just gathering the courage to speak. His hand found its way into Peter’s curls, knowing how much Peter loved the touch, and he smiled when Peter let out a contented sigh.

At least he could do that much for his kid.

“I don’t know where to start,” he whispered, tears returning to his eyes - and that was the truth. Peter had no idea what he was thinking, what he was _feeling_ \- how was he supposed to express it to someone else? How was he supposed to tell someone who he looked up to greatly? His idol? His _dad_? How would Tony look at him when he finished?

“That’s okay, kid.” Tony moved his fingers so he was massaging Peter’s scalp, and he loved the way he leaned into Tony’s touch. “Just tell me whatever’s on your mind right now. I promise you I won’t think any less of you. I love you, kid, okay? No matter what.”

Peter nodded slowly and took a deep breath. Whatever was on his mind.

But _what_ was on his mind?

“I don’t know,” he whispered, the entirety of his weight on Tony now, too exhausted to hold himself up. “I don’t know, I - I can’t think, and I don’t know what I’m feeling, and I-”

He collapsed into tears, but they were more quiet now, Peter being too mentally exhausted to make a noise.

“Peter,” Tony found himself whispering once again. “Breathe, bimbo mio, breathe.”

Tony rarely used that word. It was one his mother had used on him multiple times, _my_ _child_ , but he had never felt like the time had been right to use it on Peter - until now. Clearly, Peter had recognized the affection behind the words and took another shuddering breath.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling,” he tried again, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to focus - to gather his thoughts.

He hated that he couldn’t.

“Sometimes I get these thoughts, but I - I can’t control them. Like, the flower?” He took a breath. “I don’t know what came over me, I just - it reminded me of, of _me_ , and then you pulled it out of the ground, and it wasn’t your _fault_ but I still got mad when I had no reason to be and I accused you of being a _murderer_ and that was so _mean_ and, please don’t hate me, I’m sorry - Mr. Stark, I am _so sorry_ -”

Peter was crying now, gasping for air, shuddering through his tears. He found himself subconsciously curling in closer to Tony, trying to find protection, comfort, in the man’s arms.

Tony was telling him something, something about him being okay, him being _brave_ , but Peter really didn’t feel brave, not in the slightest. _I’m weak_ , he wanted to argue back, but he had no strength. His limbs felt like they were strapped to weights, useless at his sides. There was a cloud of darkness around his mind, squeezing, suffocating, and he just wanted it to be over, he just wanted it all to _end_ -

And this was exactly what he found himself telling Tony.

“Life is hard,” he gasped out, cutting Tony off. Tony closed his mouth immediately, just content that his kid was actually talking again.

“Well, I mean, it’s not - it’s not _hard_ ,” he tried to explain, but he couldn’t. He _couldn’t_. And he hated it.

“It’s not hard, especially not for me, I have it pretty good. I mean, I have powers, I’m _Spiderman_ , and it’s awesome, and I have you, Mr. Stark, and Ned, and MJ, but I don’t know why it’s so hard, and I know I seem so ungrateful, but I’m not, I am so, _so_ grateful for everything and all of you but my mind just _won’t let me be_ -”

He took a minute to breathe, his eyes still squeezed shut tight, feeling Mr. Stark’s shoulders rise and fall gently beneath him, letting the motion sooth him.

“I want to be happy,” he murmured, slower now - more in control. “I want to be, and I really _should_ be, but I’m just _not_ . I mean, some days I am. And some days I’m really happy, but others I don’t even want to get out of bed, and there’s no reason for it, and sometimes we’re working in the lab and I’ll be fine but suddenly I’ll drop a screw or something and I’ll just fall apart, and I don’t know what it is, Mr. Stark, but I promise you I’m trying to be better, and I _will_ be better, I swear, and I’m sorry for all this, and I’m sorry you have to _deal_ with this, but it’s not my choice I swear and I’m trying to be good and I promise you I can be good-”

Tony was taken aback by how much Peter was talking. Tears began to form in his eyes. He had guessed it was bad, for Peter to want to take such… _drastic_ measures, but he had never known, had never even fathomed how _hard_ it had actually been. All those times Peter had used the excuse of just being tired, when he would wake up late and slide his feet on the tile while walking, too tired to pick them up-

How many calls for help had Tony missed?

Scratch that statement from earlier. Tony was _definitely_ to blame for Peter’s state.

Peter lay curled into Tony’s side. The cool air no longer provided refreshing comfort to him - it now just made him feel exposed, and Tony was now the only barrier between Peter and the dangers out there. So he held him close, tears streaming down his face, Peter’s mind seeming to quiet.

Though, he found the quiet mind was worse than the loud one.

At least the loud mind was distracting. There was always something to think about, to try to process.

The quiet mind was… _quiet_. There was nothing to process. There was nothing to prevent the horrid thoughts that were constantly trying to fight their way in.

Like right now.

He might as well tell Tony, right? All or nothing. Tony probably hated him by now, anyways. There would be no (extra) harm in telling him more. And he wanted, _needed_ , to get it off his chest, anyways.

“It’s especially bad now,” he spoke stronger, like it was a fact. “I don’t even know why, but sometimes my mind is quiet and other times it’s loud, and right now it’s quiet, so it’s just me versus my thoughts, and my thoughts are winning.”

Tony tensed beside his kid. Peter sounded… dull. Empty. Void of emotion. And when he was crying just a minute ago… what did that _mean_?

“What are your thoughts saying?” Tony asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Peter was terrified to tell him.

He had been keeping these thoughts a secret for so long, hiding the horrors of his mind, and he wondered if he would even be able to speak them out loud.

“You are so strong, bimbo mio.” There was that word again.

“They’re saying….” Peter squeezed his eyes tighter. Last chance to act like he’s fine. _My thoughts aren’t saying anything at the moment! False alarm, all’s good!_

But this was Tony. Tony would see right through him.

And he _does_ want to tell someone. More than anything, he _desperately_ wants to tell someone, to actually cry out for help.

And who better than Mr. Stark?

“They’re telling me to-” A shuddering breath. “They’re telling me to leave the park, and to go on - onto the road, and, um, l-lie down-”

“Peter.” Tony’s voice was strong, demanding, and Peter flinched as Tony’s arm tightened over his shoulder.

He turned his head to look back at Tony, and the fierceness he saw in the man’s eyes made him want to shrink back in fear. He had seen this look before, directed at villains or at the press when they got too personal, but Peter never expected it would be directed at _him_.

“You _never_ say anything like that _again_.” Peter was quick to nod, the arm around his shoulders feeling more restricting than comforting now.

He had expected Tony to be disgusted with him. To leave him, because he wasn’t willing to put in the work to help him heal. No one was.

He had never expected _anger_.

Anger directed at _him_.

Suddenly, Tony’s eyes softened, and he pulled lightly on Peter’s shoulders, letting the kid fall into his side. Peter did reluctantly, only because he knew how upset Tony was with him, and he didn’t want want to risk making it any worse.

“Peter.” The boy was taken aback at the sudden softness in his voice. It sounded like Tony was… _crying_ ? “You promise me-” A pause. A loud swallow. “You _promise_ me that you will never, _ever_ listen to that voice, okay?”

Slowly, in a state of sluggish movement, Peter nodded his head, but Tony’s grip just tightened.

“ _Promise_ me.”

Peter had never heard such passion in the man’s voice, but he knew why Tony was asking for this specifically.

Peter never went back on his promises.

And Tony knew.

Tentatively, not knowing if a time would come when he would go back on that promise, Peter spoke up.

“Okay, I promise.”

Tony’s arm went slack and he sighed deeply, Peter not being able to decide between relaxing in the grasp of his mentor, or tensing in memory of the fire he had heard in Tony’s voice.

He decided on relaxing, knowing (hoping) that Tony only wanted to protect him, and now that Tony knew, now that he _understood_ , he would be more gentle, more considerate.

Peter was wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

The walk back to the tower went even slower than the walk to the park. Tony had his arm slung lazily over Peter’s shoulders as the two slowly admired the buildings around them -  _ the city of New York  _ \- but Peter couldn’t say he didn’t notice Tony’s arm tighten around him whenever the pair crossed the street, or got too near a body of water.

As if Tony thought he would jump in front of a car or into the lake at a moment’s notice.

Peter  _ had  _ been feeling relaxed as soon as he got his thoughts off his chest, but the way Tony was acting now just made him tense once again. There was a kind of fear and protectiveness radiating off Tony, and Peter sighed internally when he realized this feeling wasn’t going to go away any time soon.

As Tony’s fingers clenched tighter around Peter’s shoulders as they stood waiting at a crosswalk, Peter wondered if he made a mistake telling Tony. He’d been doing well thus far - he’d been  _ surviving  _ \- he could’ve continued on like that. Maybe healed  _ himself _ . Tony would have never had to know.

Know about the  _ war  _ raging in his head.

The thoughts that never gave him a break.

Suddenly, the dark cloud returned to swallow Peter, bringing forward thoughts,  _ feelings _ , that Peter had grown used to over the last few months - but that didn’t make them any less scary.

Peter was suddenly glad Tony was holding on to him so tightly. The  _ jump-in-front-of-a-car _ idea didn’t seem so bad anymore.

They reached the compound in silence, Peter now  _ convinced  _ that telling Tony was the wrong choice. He didn’t need to burden Tony with this - he was  _ fine _ . He could deal with it. He  _ had  _ been dealing with it.

What a burden he was.

Tony pulled open the door to the tower and let Peter walk in first, who kept his head down and avoided eye contact as he crossed the threshold and immediately started to walk upstairs to his bedroom. Shut the door behind him, blast music through his headphones, and pretend that  _ nightmare  _ had never occured.

Such a horrible, horrible decision.

Why on  _ earth _ had he decided to tell Tony?

He was positive he would never look at Peter the same way again.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice stopped Peter on the second step and he turned back around warily. Tony nodded his head to the kitchen. “Come sit with me for a second.”

Peter’s heart dropped to his shoes as Tony let the way to the kitchen table. They were going to  _ talk _ .

What questions was Tony going to ask? More importantly, how should Peter answer so Tony knew he wasn’t lying, but also dulled down enough to prevent him being thrown into a mental asylum?

The two took a seat across each other at the round table, Peter sitting rigidly with his hands in his lap, looking everywhere in the room but at the man who was staring intently at him. Peter refused to look him in the eye. He didn’t know what he would see if he looked - disappointment, disgust, anger - but he knew it wouldn’t be good.

“Peter.” Peter hummed in recognition, eyes settling on the table somewhere between them. “Look at me, please.”

Peter groaned inwardly as he slowly brought his eyes up to meet Tony’s.

The older man was leaning forward, his arms folded lightly on the table in front of him, eyes squinting like Peter was just another piece of machinery to figure out, the lack of  _ emotion _ shocking Peter, whose own eyes were being heated with unshed tears.

_ Why  _ did he tell Tony? There was a reason he hadn’t told anyone before. There was a  _ reason  _ he kept this to himself. He didn’t want to deal with  _ this _ . The conversations, the tears, the questions of  _ why  _ and  _ how long _ .

So he was confused when Tony didn’t do any of the following, instead opting for:

“You want to play Monopoly?”

Apparently the surprise was evident on Peter’s face, because Tony just raised an eyebrow.

“Is that a ‘no’? I have other board games.”

Peter took a minute to gather his thoughts.

Where was the heart-to-heart conversation? Why wasn’t Tony addressing the situation?

Nevertheless, Peter nodded quickly and cleared his throat.

“Um, no. No, Monopoly’s great.”

Five minutes later, after the game was set up on the table, the money being divided evenly and houses organized in colour-coordinated piles. For some reason Tony insisted on the two of them travelling to the other room to get the game  _ together  _ even though he  _ knew  _ Peter knows where it was, but Peter tried to shrug off the feeling as they started to play the game.

About half way through Peter pushed back the chair and started to get up from the table when Tony stopped him suddenly.

“Where’re you going, squirt?”

Peter cocked his head at the nickname.

“Squirt? You haven’t called me that since I was ten.”

Tony, who would’ve  _ loved  _ to make fun of Peter about ‘how cute he looked’ at a time like this, looked strangely serious, waiting for an answer.

“Just to the bathroom,” Peter answered slowly.  _ Why was he being so serious? _

Tony nodded with a faint smile and Peter rose from the table and began walking down the hall when he heard Tony say something from behind him. He turned suddenly.

“What?”

Tony shook his head innocently.

“Nothin.’”

Suddenly, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice echoed through the room.

“ _ All windows are locked _ .”

Peter squinted his eyes at Tony, who looked like someone had just found out his secret.

“What did you just do?” Peter asked, but Tony just smiled sweetly. Peter saw right through it.

“Nothing, bud, now  _ go _ .” Then, sounding forced, “If you come back fast enough, I’ll  _ maybe  _ not steal your money.”

Peter wanted to smile at the joke, but it sounded like Tony didn’t really mean it. Like he was forcing himself to make conversation light. He just shrugged and turned back around, entering the bathroom, and locking the door behind him.

When Peter reentered the kitchen, something was… different. He couldn’t place it.

His money was still in place, he noticed when he sat down, and Tony was still sitting at the table, drumming his fingers absentmindedly against the pair of die, so Peter just decided to shrug it off and continue the game.

“Your move,” Tony said when Peter settled, tossing the die over the board. Peter tried to ignore the unsettled feeling in his stomach as he finished the game.

⧟

Tony won the game by a longshot. He tried to dull down the business man in him for Peter’s sake, but he couldn’t help it, analyzing every decision before he made it. Peter didn’t seem bothered though, laughing every time Tony took a wad of paper money from him.

Though, something was  _ off  _ about how serious Tony was. He wasn’t laughing whenever the die fell off the table as a result of Peter not being able to control his strength, or when Peter made a  _ terribly  _ awful move and almost went bankrupt. He looked like he barely even cared about the game, his eyes on Peter practically the whole time.

Finally, after they had the board and all corresponding pieces packed up, Peter starting heading back towards the stairs. He didn’t feel as upset anymore, but he  _ did  _ have a biology test coming up to study for.

But again, Tony called him back.

“What, bored of me already?”

Peter turned back around to where Tony had just stood from the table and was looking at him with a look he couldn’t quite identify. Was it fear, or concern? He was trying to mask it with humour, but Peter had been living with him for enough time to see straight through it.

Though, Peter couldn’t  _ quite  _ identify what was underneath, so he couldn’t call Tony out on it  _ just  _ yet.

“What did you have in mind?”

Tony hesitated for a moment, and Peter realized he didn’t know himself. For some reason, he just wanted to keep Peter with him. Normally, that would be fine by Peter, but after the conversation they just had, Peter knew Tony meant something behind it.

He just couldn’t figure out what.

“What about a movie?” Tony suggested suddenly, pointing to the flat screen t.v. through the wide, open-concept doorway.

“Mr. Stark, it’s three o’clock.”

“Brooklyn Nine-Nine marathon, then? You like that show, right?”

Peter stared at him for a moment more before caving in and shrugging.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Tony’s face broke out in a tight-lipped but not reserved smile as he walked around the table, laid an arm across Peter’s shoulders, and led him into the living room and onto a couch, the arm not moving as he reached over to grab the remote from the nearby coffee table and handing it to Peter.

The unsettled feeling sinking deeper into Peter’s bones, he flipped through the dozens of extra options on Tony’s large t.v. before settling on the one that played the desired show, and sat back as the characters started talking about Dianne Wiest.

⧟

Two hours and six episodes later, Peter was getting antsy. Tony hadn’t moved his arm from Peter’s shoulders for the last 120 minutes, and he kept looking at Peter as if worried he would disappear from right under Tony’s nose.

As soon as their sixth episode came to a close, Peter started to adjust himself on the couch. He sensed an argument begin to rise from Tony, so he spoke first.

“I have a biology test to study for,” he tried to explain, but Tony laid a hand on his arm (albeit a gentle one), holding him back.

“I can help you study,” he offered, but Peter just shook his head and shrugged it off. Honestly, it was getting kind of creepy how Tony wouldn’t let Peter go. It was as if he was worried about what would happen if Peter left his eyesight.

And Peter finally thought he knew why.

“Is there a villain after you or something?” Peter asked suddenly turning so he was facing Tony. The man’s face fell into one of confusion and slight disbelief, and he looked taken aback by the statement. He shook his head quickly.

“No, why? Are you worried about something?”

Peter’s eyes squinted accusingly.

“You won’t let me out of your sight, like something’s lurking around the corner, and you’re scared it’ll get me if you let me go.”

Tony’s expression fell into one of relief and he sat back on the couch.

“It’s nothing like that, Pete,” he said, his voice more relaxed and light - though there was still an undertone Peter couldn’t quite identify.

“Then why won’t you let me go anywhere unless you’re with me?” Peter was being relentless. Tony had never struck him as a “helicopter parent”. Sure, he liked to keep a close eye on Peter,but that was just being a concerned parent.  _ This  _ was something different.

“I just want to spend time with you, Petey,” he chuckled, reaching a hand out to ruffle his curls, and Peter found himself leaning into the touch. “I feel like I haven’t spent time with you in awhile.”

Peter nodded suddenly. Yeah, that made sense.

“But don’t you have important  _ Stark Industries  _ stuff to do?” He said the company name like it was something large and intimidating to be feared, and Tony laughed at the sentiment behind it.

“It can wait for a night. I’m spending time with my kid. Everything else can wait.”

For the first time that day, it didn’t feel like Tony was hiding anything when he spoke to Peter. That line sounded genuinely, one hundred percent honest, and Peter finally felt himself thaw at the words. He smiled, finally allowing it to comfortably reach his eyes, and he collapsed back on the couch, leaning into Tony’s side.

Tony pressed “Play” on the remote, allowing the next episode to play, which Peter was too focused on to see the way Tony closed his eyes in relief, before looking down at his kid, sadness haunting his features.

⧟

This was the longest t.v. marathon the two had ever had, finally ending somewhere around nine. Tony had gotten up from the couch half way through to make the pair a fruit and vegetable platter, and Peter was too engrossed in the show to notice that the man’s worried eyes never left him once.

Finally, the credits for their last episode played, and Tony finally reached over and shut off the t.v. Peter sat up groggily and ran a tired hand over his eyes, checking the time on his phone and almost jumping in surprise.

“That was  _ six hours _ ?” he exclaimed, and Tony chuckled at his response.

“Time flies when you’re spending time with the awesomest person in the world.”

Peter frowned disapprovingly. “Mr. Stark, that’s not a real word.”

“It is if I say it is. I’m also the smartiest.”

The improper grammar seemed to grate against Peter’s ears.

“You’re doing that on purpose!”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

Tony wanted to continue “arguing” with his kid, but instead he found his face splitting into a smile he just couldn’t contain. Within seconds the two were collapsed against each other, laughing in such a way they were crying and gasping for breath.

Peter had no idea why that was so funny. It was just a childish reaction. Maybe it was because they were watching t.v. for six hours straight - they had become untethered from reality.

Finally, the laughter finally subsided, and Peter found himself curled up against Tony’s side, the older man running his fingers through his curls absentmindedly, when Peter finally yawned.

“Tired?”

Peter nodded into Tony’s hand, and Tony smiled at the feeling of his kid against his chest, living.  _ Breathing _ .

“Why don’t you head off to bed, then?” he spoke softly, glad the kid was finally tired. It meant he could sleep, and nothing could hurt him when he was asleep.

He couldn’t hurt  _ himself  _ when he was asleep.

Peter groggily stood from the couch, letting out a breath at the action of untangling himself from the position he had been sitting in for so long. He waved loosely in Tony’s general direction, hearing a laugh from the man that made him smile before climbing up the stairs.

He thought he heard a few words being spoken from behind him when he was halfway up the stairs, but they were too quiet to be directed at him, so he ignored them, instead choosing to stumble into his room and collapse on his bed.

He was out like a light.

⧟

Peter woke earlier than normal the next morning. A look at his clock said it was six-thirty, making his eyebrows raise in surprise.

_ That’s what going to bed early will get you _ , he thought to himself as he sat up and yawned, stretching his arms over his head. He wasn’t even tired.

_ Over nine hours of sleep _ , he thought approvingly.  _ I haven’t slept that well since _ -

Peter froze suddenly, legs dangling off his bed. Since before he had been thrown into this hole of darkness and despair and bad thoughts.

_ Nope _ , he thought suddenly, pushing himself up to stand.  _ Not doing that today. I feel good. I’m not going to start thinking about that _ .

He got dressed, throwing on a simple pair of jeans and the first sweatshirt he found as well as the watch Tony had bought him on his twelfth birthday (was it heavier than usual?), before heading to his door - but stopping short.

It was closed.

It was  _ never  _ closed.

Peter didn’t like when his door was closed. He found it suffocating. Even though his room in the tower was quite large, the door made it feel abnormally small, closing him in, burying him in darkness.

He reached for the doorknob to pull it open, but F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice almost made him jump out of his skin.

“ _ Mr. Stark wouldn’t like you to leave your room until seven a.m. _ ”

Peter froze.

_ What? _

He had a curfew. No Spiderman-ing past ten. There was never a set time for him to  _ sleep in  _ in the morning.

“When did he say this?” he called out quietly to the empty room. (He had grown used to speaking comfortably to the open air since moving in.)

“ _ Last night. _ ”

Oh.  _ That’s  _ what he had been saying to himself.

“ _ Mr. Stark has asked me to alert him if you left your room beforehand _ .”

A look at Peter’s alarm clock told him it was six forty-five. He sighed as he moved to sit on his bed. He could wait until seven. He didn’t want to alarm Tony.

“Do you know why, Fri?”

“ _ I’m afraid I don’t, Peter. _ ”

Peter squinted his eyes as he sat staring at the wall. Why did Tony care what he did in the morning?

“Is Mr. Stark awake yet?”

“ _ Not yet, Peter. _ ”

Peter thought for a moment.

“Do you have to tell Mr. Stark?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. was quiet for a minute.

“ _ Why do you want to leave your room? _ ”

“I just want to get ready for school. Eat breakfast, and stuff. Y’know?” What else would he be doing? What was Tony  _ afraid  _ of?

F.R.I.D.A.Y. hesitated again, before, “ _ Okay Peter, you may go. I won’t alert Mr. Stark. _ ”

“Thanks, Fri,” Peter responded, opening his door and heading down the stairs, his mind racing.

Why didn’t Mr. Stark want him leaving his room?

He shook off the weird feeling that seemed to follow him (he found himself doing that a lot lately) as he headed into the kitchen. Peter grabbed the loaf of bread from the fridge, took out four slices, and placed them in the toaster oven. He might as well make Mr. Stark breakfast, too, since he was up so early, even if he  _ was  _ being an annoying helicopter parent.

Peter grabbed two plates and set them down on the table while waiting for the toast to, well,  _ toast _ , before taking the butter from the fridge and setting it down beside the plates. Then, he moved to the drawer beside the stove to get a knife.

Because that’s where the knives  _ used  _ to be.

But they weren’t there now.

Peter stared in confusion at the empty drawer. Had they gotten robbed by a knife-collector?

He checked the other drawers where the other utensils were kept. Forks were still there; spoons, too.

But not knives.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Peter called out for the second time that morning.

“ _ Yes, Peter? _ ”

“Where are the knives?”

“ _ In a box above the fridge _ .”

Peter froze suddenly.  _ In a box above the fridge?  _ What the heck?

He stood up on his tiptoes to peek on top of the fridge. Sure enough, there was a wicker basket there Peter was  _ positive  _ hadn’t existed before. He sighed to himself as he pushed himself up onto the countertop to be able to reach the box on top. He was almost there when he heard an exclamation from behind him.

“Peter, what the fuck? Get down from there!”

Peter almost toppled but caught himself at the last second, stabilizing himself against the top of the fridge before looking sharply down at Tony.

“Why are the knives up here?”

Tony’s face flushed bright red. Peter continued to reach for the box and Tony’s eyes widened as if that was the Worst Possible Thing that he could’ve done.

“ _ Don’t touch them. _ ”

Peter’s hand froze inches from the nearest handle, the pure  _ fear  _ in Tony’s voice striking him off guard. He looked down at Tony, shocked, to see him with an arm reached out to Peter, eyes pleading.

“Just - come down from there,  _ please _ .”

Peter quickly climbed down from the countertop. He wasn’t sure  _ what  _ was bothering Tony, but it was seriously affecting him, and Peter knew better than to challenge Tony when he had that look in his eyes - when the cool, suave billionaire was  _ pleading _ .

He jumped down from the counter, holding his hands up, palms out, when he finally touched ground.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He wasn’t sure what had upset Tony, but the man was looking so serious, Peter unquestionably wanted to put an immediate end to…  _ whatever  _ it was.

Tony leaned against the counter, looking exhausted, watching Peter warily. Finally, he spoke.

“What are you doing up so early?”

Peter’s eyes suddenly grew hard at the reminder of his early interaction with F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“Why did you want to keep me in my room?”

Tony brought a hand to the bridge of his nose as he sighed deeply, closing his eyes.

“She wasn’t supposed to let you out,” he muttered, almost to himself - but Peter heard it clearly.

“ _ Why? _ ” he challenged, his voice hard. “Why are you monitoring me so closely?” He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling…  _ angry _ . Very angry at how  _ controlling  _ Tony was being. Peter was  _ fifteen _ . He knew he wasn’t an adult yet. He understood he still had a long way to go, still needed to be monitored. But he  _ should  _ be allowed to go to another room unsupervised. Go to the bathroom without needing the windows to be locked beforehand. (What  _ was  _ that, anyway?) He should be trusted to wake up as early as he wanted, and  _ use knives _ . He wasn’t an adult yet, sure, but he wasn’t a  _ child _ .

Tony looked exhausted. Peter wanted to feel bad for him, wanted to feel worried, but Tony had been treating him like he was a  _ toddler _ . Until he heard the truth, he wasn’t letting up.

Tony took a while to speak, finally raising his head to look Peter in his eyes - and Peter wanted to take a step back at the raw emotion he saw there, at the red-rimmed, hopeless, tear-ridden eyes, but he stood strong.

He was getting an explanation.

“I’m worried about you,” he muttered, and Peter’s eyes softened, his arms falling loosely to his side. His heart seemed to cave in on itself with every word his dad spoke. “You scared me, kiddo.” He tilted his head, and Peter’s heart skipped a beat when he realized Tony Stark was…  _ crying _ ?

And  _ he  _ was the cause of it.

_ Why  _ did Peter tell Tony?

“I don’t want to lose you.” Tony whispered that last line, and that was when Peter’s heart finally shattered. He stumbled forwards to wrap his arms around his dad, though the arrangement they had was more so Tony hugging Peter.

He clutched an arm tightly around his kid’s back, a hand threading through his curls, as Peter buried his face in his dad’s chest. He listened to the sound of his heart beating faster than it should’ve been as they held each other tightly.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Tony just tightened his hold.

“You almost did,” Tony muttered, rubbing circles onto Peter’s back, and Peter tensed at the reminder.

He  _ hated  _ that he was hurting his dad like this. How could he explain that he didn’t feel like he had a choice? That it felt as though everything was crashing down on him, crushing him from the inside? That everything was going wrong and it felt like nothing would ever go right again?

That if he lived another minute he felt like he would fade to nothing...

and no one would care?

“Why’d you want to keep me in my room?” Peter mumbled into Tony’s chest, eyes partially closed, feeling safe and comforted in his dad’s arms. Tony took a while to respond.

“I didn’t know if you would try to….” Tony sighed deeply before finding the word. “ _ Leave _ .”

Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. Why Tony didn’t want to let him out of his sight. Why he was hesitant to leave him alone. He wasn’t scared of what others would do to Peter…

he was scared of what Peter would do to  _ himself _ .

Peter found himself too shocked - too ashamed, too _upset_ , to respond, so Tony continued.

“You mean so much to me, Peter.”

“Stop.” Peter couldn’t stand to hear this speech. This guilt-inducing, tear-jerking speech.

“I couldn’t stand to lose you.”

“ _ Stop _ .” Why wasn’t Tony  _ listening _ ? Didn’t he know guilt would only make it worse?

“If you died-”

“ _ Tony _ ,” the strangled sob wracked its way through Peter’s throat before he even registered the word,  _ begging  _ him to stop, but the man continued as if Peter hadn’t even spoken.

“ _ If you died _ ,” he repeated louder as if to drown Peter out, “you know I would follow.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if the reference to therapy/seeing a therapist is unrealistic in this chapter - I haven't ever seen a therapist myself, so I wasn't sure how it really goes :)

Peter made his way through the school day like a ghost, the morning’s conversation playing in his mind on repeat.

_ If you died, you know I would follow _ .

The comment sat heavy in Peter’s mind like a rock, weighing him down, affecting every aspect of that day.

When he was called on to answer a question in class, got it wrong, and starting mentally torturing himself, he froze and thought,  _ Don’t do this to Mr. Stark _ .

When an event that triggered his anxiety caused him to dig his fingers into his palms, he imagined the same crescents mirrored on Tony’s scarred hands, and he stopped himself pretty fast.

When the self-deprecating thoughts invaded his head every half hour like clockwork, when they got too loud and the thought to take action unsurprisingly brought every other thought to a halt, Peter had to stop himself and  _ breathe  _ until he regained at least partial sanity. Because whatever method he debated using - jumping off a bridge, drowning himself in a river - he imagined the same thing happening to Mr. Stark, to his  _ dad _ , and that thought in itself brought bouts of panic.

He understood what Mr. Stark was trying to say. If Peter put himself in harm’s way, Tony wouldn’t follow long after. If it was supposed to bring Peter comfort, or a sense of support, or what, he didn’t know - because all he felt when he thought of Mr. Stark’s body lying mangled on a block of pavement, or being pulled, bruised and blue, from a river, all Peter felt was intense  _ guilt _ .

Maybe Tony thought that would make Peter stop, rethink his choices, realize he had people in his corner - but instead, it just made Peter want to end it all even  _ more _ . If he was letting down Tony so much, why should he still burden him? But that just caused the guilt to grow even  _ stronger _ , and by the time the final dismissal bell rang, Peter was in a vicious cycle of guilt and pain.

For a minute, he was excited to sprint out the doors and into Tony’s waiting car, to rid himself of the dark thoughts crowding his own mind, but today he had to stop himself, realizing Tony was the  _ cause  _ of this.

Peter momentarily debated telling Tony a surprise Decathlon meeting had been called and he had to stay late - or maybe he could say he was doing homework in the library.

His heart sank to his shoes when he realized he was a  _ terrible  _ liar and Tony would easily see through him.

He stopped at his locker and tried to take as long as possible to pack his bag, debating whether or not to take home his math textbook even though he had finished all his work during the day, just for an excuse to retire to his room; though, he guessed Tony would just follow him.

Sighing, he slammed his locker shut and slouched his way out the door, immediately finding the white Audi in the parking lot. (It wasn’t hard - by the time Peter left the school, most of the other cars had already pulled away.) He plastered on a smile as he pulled open the back door and climbed in, hoping to avoid an awkward conversation by getting into the passenger seat. The judgemental look Tony shot him told him that was the wrong choice.

“Why’d you get in the back?”

Peter stared back, trying to look innocent.

“The door was closer than walking all the way around.”

Tony looked unconvinced. “Kid, I showered this morning. I don’t smell.”

Peter chuckled as if he was making a harmless joke and looked out the window, praying Tony would just drop it and drive away. He should’ve known he was too stubborn.

“Get in the front, Pete.”

Peter was surprised at how much his heartbeat increased as he reshouldered his backpack, got out of the car, climbed into the passenger seat, and buckled up his seatbelt, all the while refusing to look at Tony - meaning he didn’t see the man take off his sunglasses in order to look at Peter without anything between them.

After a minute of silence and Peter looking dutifully out the window, Tony finally sighed, turned the key in the ignition, and began the fifteen-minute drive back to the tower.

“How was school today?” he asked nonchalantly as he turned out of the parking lot. Peter continued to stare out the window at his classmates in passing cars.

_ I bet none of them are depressed. _

“Fine.”

Tony had to keep his head from whipping around to stare at the kid.  _ Was that a one-word answer?  _ Suddenly, Tony realized he had been getting a lot of one-word answers from Peter lately. He just wasn’t the talkative kid he used to be. Again, Tony wondered how he could’ve been so ignorant not to notice the signs, the calls for help.

“Do anything different today? Learn anything cool?”

“Not really.”

Another look at the kid showed him practically pressed against the door, his face fully turned towards the window, his head back against the seat as if he was too tired to hold it up, and it was just too heavy - which, Tony realized with a start, was probably  _ exactly  _ how it felt.

Tony sighed at the lack of a response. “Listen, kid, we have fifteen minutes in this car together, so why don’t you just tell me what’s up and we can avoid making this more awkward than it has to be?”

Peter shut his eyes momentarily, wincing against the harshness in his voice, but turned his head from the window to meet Tony’s expectant gaze, albeit hesitantly.

“How do you know what I have to say won’t make it more awkward?”

Tony turned his attention back to the windshield, trying not to let it show how much that comment bothered him.

“Try me.”

Peter sighed in frustration.

“I already know the worst of it, kid,” Tony continued at the noise, hoping, praying, that the statement was true - that there were no other horrors Peter had been hiding, shouldering on his own. “You might as well just let the rest out.”

Peter knew Tony was right. He knew what he had been keeping inside wasn’t necessarily  _ worse  _ \- but he also knew it wasn’t quite  _ better _ , either. Nevertheless, Tony was waiting on an answer, so an answer, Peter would give.

“I don’t like that you’re managing me so closely,” he whispered, scared to speak any louder, but Tony cleared his throat.

“I can’t hear you, bud, you’re gonna half to speak up-”

“ _ I don’t like that you’re managing me so closely _ ,” he repeated louder, just a notch below shouting, causing Tony’s eyebrows to raise significantly as his hands clenched tighter around the wheel.

Peter wanted to feel embarrassed at his sudden outburst. Any other day, he would’ve been. But it felt  _ so good  _ to get this tightness out of his chest, to dislodge the heavy stone that had been weighing him down since - well, he couldn’t even remember when.

All that he  _ did  _ know was that it felt  _ so good  _ to yell.

“You didn’t let me leave your sight last night. You asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to  _ lock the windows  _ when I went to the bathroom! I know my way to the living room, Tony!”

Tony’s eyebrow was cocked, his mouth set in a firm line.

Peter was crossing the line. He  _ knew  _ he was. He knew he sounded nothing like himself, and he knew how disrespectful he was being. He was  _ definitely  _ going to pay for it later.

Right now, though, he was  _ finally  _ getting it off his chest. He was  _ finally  _ telling someone. Even if that someone would probably get his own two cents in once Peter was done, he was finally  _ talking _ .

And it felt  _ good _ .

“You wanted to keep me in my room this morning, and you hid the knives from me!  _ Gosh _ , Tony, I’m not a child!”

“I was trying to keep you  _ safe _ .”

Tony’s voice was surprisingly calm, but Peter had heard it used at enough press events to know what it meant. What it came off as was ‘I’m going to cooly answer your rude question.’ What it _meant_ was ‘Keep talking and soon you won’t be able to.’

But Peter wasn’t done yet.

“I told you what I was feeling.” His voice was quieter now, though not controlled - more,  _ yelling is exhausting but I’m still pissed _ . “I was  _ honest  _ with you. I was honest for the first time in three years in hopes that you would help me, and maybe be more compassionate, but instead you’re treating me like - like a prisoner! And you - you realize that all this guilt-tripping stuff, it’s just making it worse, right? It just makes me want to die  _ more  _ but I can’t and I get that’s what you were trying to do but now I’m  _ miserable _ and  _ gosh _ , I just want to throw myself off a bridge right now-”

Peter cut himself off at the sudden honesty.

He had never - he had never said that  _ out loud _ before, and saying it out loud made it real-

but it didn’t make it less true.

Suddenly, Tony was pulling off the road into a gas station parking lot. He parked the car before turning completely in his chair to look at Peter, who stared back, self-conscious.

“Three years?” he repeated quietly, hurt clear in his eyes so intense Peter couldn’t keep eye contact. Instead, he looked down to where his hands were fiddling in his lap and nodded solemnly.

“Since I was thirteen,” he mumbled. “Seventh grade.”

Before he knew it, Tony was unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning forwards across the center console to pull Peter into a tight hug. Peter tensed at the sudden contact after being so- so  _ disrespectful _ , but tentatively leaned into it, before thinking,  _ Screw it _ , and wrapping his arms just as tight around his dad.

He knew the feeling of the console jutting into Tony’s stomach couldn’t have felt comfortable, but he guessed the feeling of his kid in his arms more than made up for it.

Suddenly, Peter realized he was  _ crying _ , the feeling of being held so tightly, surrounded by so much  _ love  _ after feeling undeserving, unlovable, causing all his walls to crumble. Tony’s hand found its way into Peter’s curls, and though he did it often Peter knew he would  _ never  _ get tired of it, melting into the touch.

“I’m sorry,” Tony mumbled, kissing his kid’s head before resting his chin atop it. “I was scared. Peter, I was  _ so  _ scared. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Peter was going to respond with  _ I’m not going anywhere _ , but realized they had already distinguished that as a lie. He stayed quiet instead, breathing in the faint scent of motor oil and pine-scented car freshener. The smells of safety; the smells of  _ home _ .

After a moment of comfortable silence, Peter stuttered out a quick, “Did you put your tracker in my watch?”

Tony stilled. “How’d you know?”

Peter laughed lightly as he detangled himself from Tony’s grasp. “It was heavier than usual.”

Tony sighed, feigning frustration. “Of course you would notice.”

The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t so comfortable. The jokes were over - both could tell - and now it was time for the more…  _ serious  _ side of things.

“Just, don’t treat me like a prisoner,” Peter said seriously. “I just need - gosh, I feel like a child asking for this - I just need support sometimes, and someone to talk to,  _ without  _ judgement, when it gets hard.”

Tony nodded eagerly. “Kid, you  _ always  _ had that. I thought you knew that.”

Peter shrugged, cheeks faintly flushed, avoiding eye contact.

“It - it was just hard to remember sometimes.”

“Of course, kid,” Tony spoke softly, taking Peter’s hand in his own and rubbing a gentle finger over his knuckles. “I’m always there for you. Don’t you ever forget it.”

Peter shot him a grateful smile, and waited for Tony to say what was clearly on his mind.

The older man cleared his throat, his eyes seeming to darken.

“Peter, have you ever given a thought to… therapy?”

Peter tensed at the word.

Truth was, he  _ had  _ thought about it. He knew this whole  _ depression  _ thing was taking over his life, ruining everything - affecting every decision, his very  _ future _ .

Some days, he thought seeing a therapist wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe they  _ could  _ help. Maybe he could start  _ living  _ again.

Others, it seemed like the Worst Possible Thing. He was too far past saving. Nothing could be done. Plus, seeing a therapist was  _ so  _ expensive - what if Tony finally realized Peter wasn’t worth it? And also, if that wasn’t enough, who knew if he’d even be able to  _ speak  _ to a therapist?

_ What’s bothering you? _

_ I’m depressed, but not depressed-depressed, because sometimes I’m really sad and other times I’m not, and I have no reason to be so I guess it’s not really true. And also, I’m Spiderman, which I’m not supposed to tell you, and I see civilians die, like, once a week, maybe? Also, my Uncle Ben died in front of my eyes when I was younger, my parents even before that, but I got used to it and I was fine until my Aunt died too. I was trapped under a building, my crush’s dad tried to kill me, and also I’m shoved against lockers every day by bullies because I’m only a high school freshman. What’s up with you? _

Yeah, that would go over well.

“Any thoughts?”

_ Oh _ , Peter realized with a start. Tony was still waiting on an answer.

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark,” he said quietly, embarrassed. “I mean, other people have it worse than me, right? Why would someone waste their time talking to me, a sort-of-sad-but-maybe-it’s-just-teen-angst kid, when they could be helping someone who  _ really  _ needs it?”

Tony shot him a look that Peter recognized as something close to pity, but not quite.

“Peter, you have  _ got  _ to give yourself credit sometimes. You almost-” He had to stop himself. Breathe. Compose. Try again. “You almost  _ killed  _ yourself, Peter. You deserve to get help. And even if you didn’t, even if things had never gotten that extreme - damn it, Peter, you  _ deserve  _ to feel better. You don’t deserve to feel anything less than perfect!”

The tone of his voice didn’t match the passionate fire of his words. It was sad, upset, ready to be overcome with tears at any given moment.

“Please, Peter, let me help you.”

Peter let out a dejected sigh.

“For the record, I don’t think it’ll help.”

Tony didn’t say anything.

“And I really don’t deserve it.”

He looked like he wanted to interrupt, but was biting his tongue.

“And it’s really expensive-”

“Don’t worry about the money!” he finally blurted, and Peter chuckled inwardly. Of course that was the one trigger, the one thing Tony spoke out on, that he made sure wasn’t an issue - the one thing he had easy control over.

With one final, heavy sigh, Peter closed his eyes, sure he was going to regret what he said.

“Fine. I’ll go to therapy.”

His sinking heart was immediately lifted when he heard the - the  _ giggle  _ from…  _ Tony Stark _ ?

“Did you just-” he let his eyes flutter open for emphasis- “ _ giggle _ ?”

Tony clamped a hand over his widely-grinning mouth.

“Did I just win an argument against the most stubborn kid in the world?”

Peter rolled his eyes.  _ Gosh _ , his dad was a dork. He was going to be stuck with him forever, wasn’t he?

Peter opened his arms once more, and the two collapsed into a hug of comfort, and protection - of safety, and love.

Of family.

⧟ **** _ One week later      _ ⧟

As the car pulled up outside of the modest-looking two storey, Peter wanted nothing more than to sink down into his seat and never resurface.

The first day of therapy.

He’d be lying if he said a small, miniscule part of him wasn’t excited. It was a chance to heal himself, restore him to what he used to be.

But a (much) larger part of himself was  _ terrified _ .

What if the therapist knocked down a wall Peter forgot he had up? Brought forward some terrible memories that just made this whole  _ life  _ thing worse?

Peter had finally gotten semi-control over himself - what if all his progress was ruined for Tony’s want for Peter’s recovery to be professional?

“I mean, what qualifies someone as a professional, anyways?” Peter continued the argument aloud as Tony started exiting the car. Peter stayed put. “Shouldn’t  _ I  _ be trusted to heal  _ myself _ ? I mean, I know me best. She doesn’t know anything about me.” Tony had prepped Peter on the way over. His therapist was someone Tony had found after hours of thorough Google searches - someone named Adrienne.

Tony just rolled his eyes and said a quick, “Come on, Spiderbaby. Get out of the car,” before slamming the door and crossing his arms and tapping his foot, acting impatient. (Peter knew Tony really had all the time in the world for him.)

Peter sighed, getting out of the car and closing the door behind him.

“I mean, really,” he tried one final attempt (though he knew it was futile) to derail Tony as he locked the door behind him and they began to ascend the few steps leading up to the house. “I should be trusted to know myself!”

“Be quiet and go talk about your feelings, and if I don’t see any tears by the time I pick you up,” Tony ‘threatened’ with gritted teeth, ringing the doorbell. He slung an arm around Peter’s shoulders and shook him lightly, giving him a comforting smile before the door opened.

⧟

Peter exited the house an hour later, looking surprisingly… unaffected. Tony was waiting for him in the car, typing away on his Starkpad, but he looked up at the first sign of movement, quickly exiting the car and skipping steps to reach where Peter was just stepping over the threshold, pulling the door shut behind him.

“How’d it go, bud?” he asked lightly, ruffling the kid’s hair. Peter gently pushed his hand away, but Tony knew it was only because they were in public. He  _ loved  _ when Tony played with his hair.

“Actually…  _ okay _ .” Peter looked confused at the lack of horrible, life-changing events, and Tony finally allowed himself to smirk, knowing the kid couldn’t see him.

He hadn’t told a  _ complete  _ lie; he  _ had  _ spent hours searching online for the perfect therapist, but not for Peter, for  _ himself _ , and not over the past week, either. Really, he had been going to Adrienne biweekly since New York (though Peter being younger would be going weekly). And she had been a  _ huge  _ help.

Tony wasn’t really hiding it, per se; he just didn’t feel like anyone needed to know. Maybe he’d tell Peter later, but for now, he wanted Peter to think Tony was someone stable for him to lean on. (He didn’t realize the thought of someone Peter trusted going through the same thing as him would help him come to terms with it - or maybe Tony did. Maybe Tony was scared to be open about his weaknesses, but really, who was to tell?)

“What did you guys talk about? If you don’t mind me asking,” Tony asked as they reached the car, pulling the door open for Peter to climb in, before jogging to the other side to get in himself.

“She just asked me about what I liked to do and stuff. We talked about Brooklyn Nine-Nine for a solid 20 minutes. Turns out she likes the show, too.”

Tony bit back his smile. During  _ his  _ first session, they had talked about cars. Adrienne had known a surprising amount - her niece was a mechanic, too, and taught her enough to keep up with everything Tony was talking about, which was no easy feat. That was when Tony knew she was perfect for him - and would be for Peter, too.

“We didn’t do any actual  _ talking  _ stuff,” Peter muttered, almost to himself, and Tony knew he was trying to figure out why. Was it a scheme, or was she actually just the fraud he had suspected?

The next week’s session seemed to answer his question.

Tony immediately knew this night would be different from last week’s when Peter slouched out of the house, eyes trained on the floor, feet dragging on the pavement. Tony was ready for him as soon as he came out.

“A bit harder today?” he asked quietly when they were safely inside the car, driving home. Peter nodded, but didn’t say anything more. Tony let the answer they were both expecting hang in the air for a moment before voicing it.

“Want to talk about it?”

Peter shook his head, which Tony was expecting. Instead, he wrapped the kid in his fluffiest blanket as soon as the pair got home, and they fell asleep on the couch watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine reruns. They didn’t talk about the sessions, or what Peter was thinking, and Tony didn’t question it.

He knew Peter would come to him if there was something he wanted to say.

There was no telling what each session would bring. Some were better than others.

Some days, Peter came bounding down the stone steps, the living embodiment of sunshine.

Others, he barely had the strength to stagger down the stairs without collapsing. Tony would be there for him the entire way, supporting him without a question, knowing two bowls of ice cream and unlimited blankets were awaiting them at home.

Days, in general, were unpredictable. Tony could usually tell from the get-go what kind of day Peter was going to have. He was either smiling, or could barely get out of bed.

On the good days, Tony smiled back. Made him pancakes, ruffled his hair, did anything in his power to keep it that way.

On the bad days, Peter would barely have the strength to get out of bed - but Tony would never leave his side then, either. He would say encouraging words, help guide him out the door. Send him encouraging messages throughout the school day for the kid to read during lunch, or between periods. (Peter would be lying if he said they didn’t help, even just a tad.)

But there were other days where Tony just couldn’t tell.

Peter woke up wearing a smile that Tony saw straight through, feeling, for whatever reason, that he needed to mask what he was feeling. Tony would encourage him to open up, even offer to sign him out of school for the day if he was being relentless. Tony didn’t want that wall coming down mid-school day and having Peter upset surrounded by his peers. He knew how difficult a bunch of pubescent kids could be.

Other days, Peter woke up one way and came home from school the other. It was always a pleasant surprise when he came home smiling after seeming so miserable just that morning; but at other times, if something had happened at school to tarnish Peter’s positive morning attitude, Tony just held him close and promised him it would be okay.

It took a while for that promise to actually come to life.

Peter expected to feel better within the first few weeks of therapy. When he didn’t, the month. Then, the season. And, upsettingly, he didn’t even feel one hundred percent back by the end of the year.

But he  _ did  _ feel better.

The thoughts in Peter’s mind weren’t as dark as they once had been. He didn’t associate a bridge with jumping, a body of water with drowning. An incorrect answer in school didn’t start a whirlwind of negative thoughts.

Of course, there were still bad days where Peter woke up in the morning and just… didn’t feel like moving. And it sucked. He knew that no matter what happened, no matter what Tony tried to do to help him (and he tried a lot), the day was just a waste.

But he went to bed, and woke up the next morning with a fresh new attitude, and hoped that this day would be better than the last.

Peter wasn’t feeling perfect, but he was feeling better.

And maybe that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the next chapter for a final author's note <3


End file.
